31 January 2005

Africa's largest lake was once a biologist's dream pond, offering rare glimpses into vertebrate speciation and the dynamics of sexual versus natural selection, via the hundreds of endemic and often highly colourful cichlids that danced in its waters. Following the introduction of the Nile perch, a two metre long predatory fish that some people thought would make good sport, the barely ploughed depths of the lake's biodiversity was soon reduced to a dismal dump of alien cannibals, as the perch began to feed on alternate foods such as prawns and on each other, having exhausted the lineages of hundreds of cichlid species. Not surprisingly, midge populations along the lake's coasts exploded, as few small fish were left to consume insect larvae.

"Within a single decade," writes Dutch biologist Tijs Goldschmidt, who studied this community in the 1980s, "the differentiated biotic
community that had coevolved over a period of at least fourteen
thousand years, and perhaps even hundreds of thousands of years, had
changed into an impoverished mess."

The Nile perch is now an ineradicable feature of Lake Victoria, a fitting tribute to the indiscriminate pride of men whose folly overruled their freedom. Nearby, the shore-dwellers of Tanganyika and Malawi have mercifully discovered the livelihoods afforded in catching their technicolour cichlids for export to aquarists. Here, at least, a handful of small fish are being truly transformed into a breadbasket that feeds a multitude.

Letter to the Straits Times in response to an economist. My reply should not be taken as thoroughly antagonistic to his position, but more as a expression of concern for the usefulness (and limitations) of market-oriented tools and models, as well as the tendency of modern economics to place the market before man and nature.

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Dr. Quah (ST, 31 Jan 2005) highlights the pertinent need to evaluate the value of nature using tools that would help policy-makers make better-informed and meaningful decisions on what should be preserved or sacrificed.

However, it could be said that seeking to place a market dollar value on a habitat, species or biodiversity of a locale is an exercise fraught with subjectivity as well as dangerously reductionist in its attempt to subsume the worth of complex and irreplaceable systems into a monetary scheme of value. One could well argue that the little utilised space afforded to largely-empty padangs and under-visited national monuments represents a tremendous opportunity cost lost to real estate developers (as well as the state, being the landlord). But could not the civic and historic value of such public space be likewise appraised? How should one then judge the ‘loss’ suffered by any individual or nation at the draining of a marsh, the extinction of a tree or bird, or the clearing of a green patch? Whose lives would be measurably affected by the eradication of the tiger, the leaf monkey or a mangrove swamp?

Economic assessments of nature that rely solely on marketised notions of real estate value are likely to overlook two vital concepts: the idea of externalities (whereby the consumption of good entails gains or losses that are not factored into its price/cost), and the provision of public goods. (The ongoing debate about the casino proposal could be said to hinge largely on differing views of how significant and manageable the negative externalities of a casino would be.)

More rigorous study of the positive externalities generated by intact eco-systems, as well as the negative externalities which their loss could incur, is certainly warranted to ascertain what their preservation (or destruction) could mean to both individuals and society at large.

Possible correlations include the loss to fisheries (think of all the seafood) from degraded mangrove swamps and coral reefs (which respectively serve as refuges for the fry and adults of many delectable species); the role of dense tree cover (no, Bishan Park doesn’t count) in mitigating ambient temperature and improving air quality and health; the drainage regulation afforded by peat swamps; as well as the psychological significance (stress levels, sense of belonging etc…) of retaining natural areas to the population. Might the steady (and seemingly irrefutable) encroachment of the bulldozer be a substantial factor in the minds of emigrants wanting to live in an environment with more open space and less manicured parkland? What would be the cost too to Singaporeans who might one day have to fly further afar just to catch sight of a creature extinct locally, or simply to find respite from the endless towers of development?

There is also the troubling view that economic development and the preservation of natural spaces is a zero-sum game. As conservationist Ria Tan remarked, where else in the world can one find pristine rainforests, tropical mangroves and rich coral reefs all within 20 minutes of each other? We welcome millions of tourists, many of whom come from lands where biodiversity is prized and learning about nature is a common pursuit. Not every traveller is physically equipped to traverse the rivers of Sarawak or climb the mounts of Borneo. Why not explore the idea of pitching Singapore’s reserves and waters as a safe haven and stopover for elderly or less able visitors who would appreciate a safe plank walk through lush mangroves or forest paths in the morning, with time enough for tea at Raffles Hotel after mid-day?

To this one could add the promise of biochemical miracles that Singapore’s indigenous flora and fauna are just beginning to reveal to researchers.

Economists are often uncomfortable with public goods, as it is difficult to place such items within the conventional framework of discrete supply and effective demand. The provision of street lighting, national defence, basic education and healthcare, transportation networks and urban planning are typically assigned to the tax-collecting state, as private delivery of such goods is hindered by their liability to the free-rider syndrome, i.e. the good’s provision benefits everyone, so there is no incentive for a rational individual to pay for what he could enjoy freely thanks to a less calculative person).

Ecosystems and nature areas share this feature, along with the tremendous (and under-estimated) externalities associated with their existence (or demise). Unless one opts to ring-fence local parks and green areas, and charge each visitor the maximum fee he is willing to pay, rigid econometric models are likely to both underrate the true utility of nature as well as ignore the unquantifiable human values accorded to the sustaining of native biological diversity.

Asad Latif pleads for a balance; it seems to me that by far, the balance of power between nature and ‘development’ has been skewed in favour of the latter, taking not into the account the valid idea that human welfare is linked to nature’s health and that ‘development’ does not have to come at nature’s expense. With land an increasingly scarce and costly commodity, surely it makes sense for Singapore to incentivise the pursuit of activities that create high value from renewable resources (e.g. brainwork by the finance and creative sectors, eco-tourism, tropical bio-medical research) rather than await the implied day when every square inch of soil must contribute to the balance sheet.

A cost benefit analysis can be helpful in gauging the utility of a choice, but the adoption of too narrow a definition of value is likely to result in decisions that sacrifice long term well-being for more immediate (and not necessarily sustainable) revenue streams. Besides, should such an approach be universally prescribed for all facets of life as well? Whether to marry, to have children, to pursue a hobby, embrace a faith, honour our history and leave a legacy? Should we seek to assign a price to everything, and in doing, forget the value of it all?

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Economy v environment: Let's talk dollars and sense 31 Jan 2005

I HAVE been reading with some amusement, and perhaps a little frustration, the latest Straits Times coverage on the nature versus economic growth debate in Parliament ('Debate over the price of being green'; ST, Jan 26), as well as the commentary by Institute of South-east Asian Studies fellow Lee Poh Onn on the worth of natural heritage in Singapore ('How much is natural heritage worth?'; ST, Jan 23).

More than 10 years ago, The Straits Times featured in its Life! section a lengthy debate between me, as an academic economist, and Dr Ho Hua Chew, who was at that time president of the Nature Society of Singapore, on precisely the issues discussed today (ST, Oct 29, 1992).

My frustration comes as a result of not seeing more that could have been done to solve, or perhaps more aptly handle, such environmental concerns by the use of well-known and established methods taught in all environmental economics courses across much of the developed world.

In the 1992 article, I explained the merits of techniques such as cost-benefit analysis, valuation of non-market environmental goods and impact analysis in dealing with such problems. It is important, in my view, to attempt to place money values on the environment where it is affected by development projects. It is only by putting such things on a common plate, by deriving values in dollar terms, that some means of comparison and relative worth of projects and policies can be assessed inclusively.

There is not much advantage in listing, as is done traditionally by most nature societies, all the so-called biodiversity and species that face extinction in an attempt to stop a proposed project. On the one hand, there is a development project worth, say, $50 million. On the other, there is a list of 10,000 species of birds, 8,500 types of insects, more than 2,000 species of trees and so on. How is one to make much meaningful sense of this, let alone weigh the merits of the project?

The article by Mr Asad Latif on the economy versus the environment makes more sense in creating awareness that we, as a society, cannot have a so-called 'free lunch' in getting more growth ('Economy v environment? No, it's about achieving balance'; ST, Jan 26). There have to be some sacrifices but more pertinently, there is a need to balance further growth (and with it, employment, consumer goods and so on) with preserving or enhancing nature.

It is important to remind ourselves that Singapore is a land-scarce country and at the same time realise that as more land is devoted to projects, the remaining pristine environment gets smaller.

Ultimately, it depends on what a society wants: more nature or more urbanisation (both have benefits). However, the test of the relative worth of each new project should be based on the economic science of common sense in valuing and comparing in a systematic way the benefits and costs of each proposal.

30 January 2005

Neuschwanstein Castle, as seen from Marienbrücke, a 130 year-old bridge suspended 92 metres above the Pöllat gorge. Nestled on a woody ridge between the snowy mounts of the German Alps and lake-strewn pastures of Southern Bavaria, the white castle encapsulates the Wagnerian visions of a king born too late for the Romance of chivalry and epics of minstrels. A fiscal nightmare turned dream destination, the doomed monarch's refuge now holds court to bedazzled streams of postcard senders, who ascend the windy slopes to pay homage to a drowned soul whose private fantasy has outlived the thousand years of a lesser Reich.

29 January 2005

The philosopher Peter Singer is known for advocating equal legal status and rights for all great apes, as the first step in dismantling man's long-held anthropomorphism, whereby all creation is judged and acted upon with reference to human concerns. Without going quite as far as that, it's still telling how the emotional appeal of aesthetics can come forth to defend practices that seek to replace miracles of natural diversity with the fickle sensibilities of human fashion.

The issue of hybrids and strains created by artificial selection was raised in an aquaria-related forum, and one member's post seem to me a fair exemplar of how people confuse values that appeal to sentiment and views founded in the interest of natural lineages. The writer started off with the statement: "To people who say that they feel angry and sorrow for fishes who are 'abused' for being commercially bred for human entertainment, how are these fishes being 'abused' when they are swimming happily in the tank, waiting to be bought, fed and put into a place where they will have no fear of natural predators...."

He goes on: "And for those who will question me how would I know that these fishes are 'happy', I will not answer them until they tell me why will they not be 'happy' and I am sick and tired of people saying that because they are "mutated", that they are "hybrid" that is why they are being abused and hence a 'sad and sorry' fella. I might just believe you if you are a fishy telepathic."

It would be interesting indeed to know how happy a fish could be, but the writer poses a non sequitur in his assertion that piscine joy can be found in aquaria, hybrids and 'mutants' notwithstanding. Those who speak from the points of bioethics as well as conservation are wont to see a world of wrong in freakish creations such as 'balloon' fish and 'parrot' cichlids on account of the principle of doing no harm to both the individual creature and its extended phenotype consisting of co-specifics and ecological cohabitants. Mutant creatures with extra legs, long fins, bloated bellies, missing vertebrae and misshapen swim bladders are born from time to time, in both the wild and hobbyist tanks. Untouched by man, natural selection eliminates such individuals for being less 'fit' for survival and their abnormal traits are not passed on future generations. The tenacity of life on earth, though, is still incredible, in the sheer abundance of creatures with dazzling colours and spectacular plumage that successfully defy the selective power of predators for the sexual appeal of mates.

While one may not be able to prevent the periodic birth and maturity of creatures sporting morphological features that prevent them from moving, feeding, escaping and competing as well as their normal counterparts, the propagation of such characteristics through human intervention becomes a deliberate disregard for the welfare of countless deformed offspring, which would never have existed under natural conditions. Prone to physiological ailment, infections, digestive complications as well as lacking the means to even move as effortlessly as their regular kin, the fate of such monstrosities lies entirely in the hands of human keepers, and as with their canine counterparts whose endearing facial distortions hide chronic respiratory faults, those who justify the breeding and trading of such beasts fall into the breach of irresponsibility unless they can ensure the total and adequate lifelong husbandry of their charges, and that these faulty bloodlines do not enter normal lineages.

Our writer prefers to defend his stance using the notion of absolute subjectivity: "Some may argue that it is unethical for we make these fish "freakish". 'Freak' is a very subjective term nowadays. In fact, even 'unusual' or 'deformed' is fast becoming an objectively subjective definition of certain shapes, mannerism and things of nature or man-made. Why is this so? What is freakish, unusual or deformed to you, may be just "okay" or even "not-to-bad" to me or that him or her down the street in some other part of the world." In other words, since we can't define what's normal (everybody has his unique view), there's no point in labelling an animal freakish or deformed either. Biologists may be debating the very existence of species as a valid taxonomic concept, but acknowledging phenotypic variations that emerge and survive in varied milieus is different from fostering artificial life support onto creatures thoroughly unsuitable for survival. We naked apes, who rightly defy the laws of evolution in our social altruism, see it just that those born disabled, as well as their children, are equipped for a fair deal in life. Should not all pet lovers of 'mutants' pledge to do likewise, or better temper their enthusiasm for novelty and 'cuteness' with the understanding that breeding a line of mutilated bodies is no act of kindness, to both the poor creature and those who might be enticed to buy it?

I shall give the last word to the writer in question, and ponder the meaning of reasonableness and normalism. That will probably cost me a few nights of peaceful slumber. "...I would say [the mutants] are acceptable due to the [principle of] 'minimum reasonableness and normalism'. It is reasonable as I understand that the beauty and appeal of the fish outweigh its narrow-mindedly perceived deformity. It is also 'normal' in the sense that it is not like the fishes are being deformed to the point of grostesque piece of painful-looking living aquatic life form.... Anyway, I don't think the fishes are wailing in pain that their descendents are going to be deformed, in a 'beautiful and attractive way', in order to make mankind adore them more..... These fishes should thank us for bringing them a step closer to paradise.... I will just do what I want to do as long as it does not violate the two altruistic principles of pity (dislike for voluntary inflicting harm on innocent beings, that include fishes) and probity (respects for other people rights and properties - that includes their beliefs).

This week, the Alocasia reginula by my kitchen window decided it's time to bloom. Also known as Alocasia "Black Velvet" on account of its striking foliage, the 'little queen' is a far cry from its edible mammoth cousin, the giant taro. And in contrast to the weedy strength of its pan-regional relative, A. reginula is one of those rainforest gems with the dubious double honour of having man as both its saviour and scourge. Known only in cultivation, the species is traced to Borneo, where it was reportedly obtained by a Japanese collector and propagated in American nurseries in sufficient numbers to warrant its survival in horticultural habitats. The plant has never been found in the wild and its biotope is unknown – for want of knowledge or simply because it doesn't exist any longer. I suppose it just goes to show that the boundless gifts of biochemical aid and floral beauty that dank jungles could grant mankind just doesn't compare to the immediate profitability of a yard of logs. After all, who in his right mind imagines that one could make a good living from seeking and growing pretty little blossoms and colourful leaves, much less selling them?

Besides their suitability for budak's dark corners, members of the aroid family fascinate me with their beguiling armament of scatological wiles and seductive traps of phallic proportions. There is even a group of people who waste their energies and deprive their children of Happy Tree Friends by spending money and nerve ends on these obscene expressions of sexual fervour. I can't imagine the reactions of those folks scarred by Janet's Jackson's tasseled tit should they come across a houseplant that shows you an erect 'finger' (as my little queen is doing) or explodes in glorious tumescence, sprinkling the air with the odour of entomological ardour, drawing an orgy of deprived diptera into a womb of frustration.

In a family of performers, the genus Cryptocoryne or water kettles (C. cordata from Johor is shown left) ranks as extreme artists, having found the secret to underwater coitus with a water-tight inflorescence that permits entry via a slit of an opening that descends into a submerged tube ending in a dry chamber of love. Prized by aquarists for their highly textured foliage, rich colours and the sheer challenge of keeping them alive, 'crypts' serve as bioindicators of pristine tropical streams, thriving as they do in unpolluted nutrient-poor nooks and notably in the shrinking peat swamps where rasboras spawn in the shelter of their leaves and licorice gouramis prowl their petioles for minute prey (the colony of C. griffithi pictured above right borders a stream
plagued by at least 12 species of native fish, including harlequins, bettas and
pikeheads).

Singapore in fact enjoys more than its fair share of crypt diversity, with three indigenous species (C. pontederiifolia and C. wendtii are farm escapees that lurk in certain streams) that retain a foothold in less manacled waterways. Reaching over a metre in height, C. ciliata, the largest and most widely distributed member of the genus, is an inhabitant of intertidal edges, tolerating more salinity than most of its kin. Being a too infrequent visitor to brackish regions, budak has not sighted this beast in the wild as yet, so the specimen pictured on the left comes from an aquatic plant farm. Slightly less elusive is C. griffithi, a gorgeous display of aquabotanical fragility that bears gaudy purplish-red blooms. Pockets of these plants still remain in streams within the Central Reserve, including some very well-guarded waters (the pictured brook is accessible only when the army takes a break) teeming with cordate blades that spill over into waterlogged marshes. C. timahensis is the most recent discovery, a true endemic clinging to the precipice of extinction in a dammed and drying pool overseeing the towers and malls of Bukit Timah. Tis truly a plant on its last hills....